


Beating Heart.

by BarPurple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, BAMF Molly, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kidnapping, Murder, Mystical Ideas, Shock Blanket, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a murderer stalking London taking the hearts of his victims. A madman has targeted Sherlock's heart before. Is this one going to follow in his footsteps?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating Heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I've rated this as mature because of the murder and talk of cannibalism. The descriptions of violence aren't overly detailed, but please exercise caution if any of the tags sound ick for you.
> 
> If you feel okay then please read on. . .

She heard the crash as she reached the morgue doors. Smashy breaky noises should be more worrying coming from room where the dead outnumbered the living. It’s amazing what the addition of a frustrated, very much alive sociopath will do to your expectations of normal.

_What has Sherlock broken now?_

Talking a deep breath Molly shouldered open the door, carefully balancing the two cups of coffee in her hands, entering her domain backwards saying as she did;

“Sherlock if you’ve broken more beakers you will clean up the glass.”

There was no reply, or any sign of the consulting detective. Molly took a cautious step into the room and caught sight of a well-tailored, but much slumped form behind the work bench. The next few seconds past with the treacle slowness of panic. The cups dropped from her hands and coffee erupted over the floor. A streak of dark colour in her peripheral vision became a vicious hand wound in her hair. Molly might have let out a yell before a second hand clamped a cloth across her face. She gagged as she recognized chloroform.

_CHCl3 this is going to be unpleasant_

Her brain supplied unhelpfully as she blacked out.

 

*-*-*

 

“That’s why the bodies are missing the hearts. You’re consuming them to gain their powers; the strength that made them so formidable.”

Molly’s voice was raspy and talking made it feel as though her throat was coated with ground glass. The robed figure currently leaning over a narrow table twisted quickly to stare at Molly. As he moved she saw Sherlock.

_Thank God, he’s alive and he looks pissed off._

Sherlock’s arms were bound so they met under the table top that he lay on. His legs bent at the knees so his ankles were tied to the legs of said table. The purple shirt he wore was torn open barring his chest to the cold air. Molly felt a pang of loss for that shirt.

_Seriously? You’re feeling bad about the purple shirt getting ripped? Focus Molly._

The most important detail of the scene before her finally clicked into place. Sherlock was gagged with gaffer tape by the looks of it. They’d lost their best chance for escape; Sherlock’s rapid, soul destroying deductions weren’t going to reduce their captor to jelly, or buy them time.

_Bugger. It’s up to me. Bugger._

In the seconds this had taken to run through Molly’s mind their cannibal captor had moved closer to her. He moved with an awkward attempt at grace. Had Sherlock been wearing that flowing black robe it would have swooped and swished with effortless elegance; evil intent in every swirl and flick. On the body of the wannabe warlock the robe hung sulkily. Molly was expecting him to trip and fall at any moment. His head tipped from side to side as he studied her. He was probably trying for reptile-like intimidation in his movements, but he looked more like a bobble-head toy.

_A silly toy armed with a very sharp, very long knife._

Molly tried to get some moisture into her throat and plunged into her scarcely thought out plan; keep him talking.

“Sherlock’s a good choice. All that intelligence and everyone knows he hardly sleeps or eats, but he’s always full of energy. Full of power, shame you’ll only get half of it.”

Her voice cracked and she choked out a dry, sharp cough. Another twitch of his head and his eyebrows shot up.

“What do you mean?”

His face was carefully schooled into a mask of disinterest, but Molly caught the glimmer of self-doubt in his voice. With an all too realistic gulp, she carried on;

“Your other vict…sacrifices have been ordinary people; strong and talented, but normal. Sherlock is a hero, a modern day dragon slayer. The rules are different for him.”

The wannabe warlock gave his prisoner a long thoughtful stare. The ornate, but very sharp dagger in his hand caught the light. Molly tried not to fidget against the handcuffs that held her against some sort of machine table. Wryly she thought that at least the economic crash had left plenty of vacant industrial sites to serve as the back drop for London’s criminally inclined.

_Where do they take kidnap victims during boom times?_

That was something she could ask Sherlock if they got out of this alive. The thought that they might not survive dropped a shard of ice down Molly’s spine and refocused her on the task at hand, just as the wannabe warlock asked:

“How do you know this?”

“I read between the lines. Heroes are always broken by the loss of the person closest to them. It stands to reason that’s the person with the true power.”

The warlock was considering her words, but he wasn’t totally convinced. Molly took a breath as if stealing herself to admit something shameful.

“I’m a pathologist. I’ve always been attracted to the dark aspects of life. I’ve just never have the strength to act on the knowledge I’ve found.”

The unspoken compliment to her captor hung in the air. Molly watched him preen a little at her words. She risked a glance at the bound and gagged form of Sherlock and took strength from the encouragement she found in his eyes. She had to keep going and buy them enough time for John and Greg to find them.

“Would this catalyst happen to be you?”

The suggestion of a sneer in the warlock’s voice made Sherlock huff and let his head fall back against the makeshift altar with a thud. Before the Fall Molly might have been hurt at his dramatic lack of interest for her, but now she latched onto it and poured as much bitterness into her voice as she could muster.

“Ha! Me? No I’m not brilliant enough for the great Sherlock Holmes. I’m useful for fetching coffee, but not worthy of his heart.”

Sherlock snapped his head round to face her and for a second he looked hurt, but as the warlock turned to face him a look of cold indifference came over his features.

“Oh dear, did you scorn this poor lovely Mister Holmes? That never works out well for a hero.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and the warlock gave Molly his undivided attention.

“If you tell me who his catalyst is I might let you live. I could help you find the strength to make your darkest dreams come true.”

Molly met his eyes and looked thoughtful. The man in front of her couldn’t be any more than about twenty-five and Molly found her soft heart wondering what had happened to him to set him on this path. Her practical side pointed out that his chosen path was strewn with three corpses missing their hearts and any compassion she was feeling for him was most likely the result of the chloroform he’d used when he kidnapped her.

_Always looking for the good in the sociopaths. Bit not good Molly._

Slowly she nodded her head and watched a predatory grin spread across the warlock’s face. She said softly;

“If you want Sherlock’s full power you need John Watson.” 

“And where would we find the blogger?” he asked in a gentle tone.

“Turn around.” said the level voice of John Watson.

The warlock span on his heel and howled before lunging away from Molly. Her view of John was blocked by the killer’s now impressively swirling robe. She saw the arm holding the blade pull up over his head, but couldn’t shout a warning before a single gunshot echoed in the room.

There was definite on the solid thunk as the warlock hit the floor and the metallic clatter as the dagger bounced from his hand. The compact familiar form of John Watson came into view. Molly had rarely seen this side of John, but she’d heard the hushed whispers of Greg’s team as they spoke of Captain Watson. The armed man in front of Molly was John, but at the same time it wasn’t. His eyes were colder, the lines on his face had taken on a harder caste, and his whole stance radiated strength. He looked more angular and even his trademark jumper looked more like chainmail than soft knitwear. John Watson looked like a hero; a hero who had just taken the heart of an enemy.

Molly started giggling.

_Okay, here comes the shock and panic. Was wondering when that was going to hit._

For Molly the next few minutes were viewed through a strobe light of emotional stress. Hero John vanished and was replaced by Doctor John who flicked over to Sherlock’s side and started to free him.

Greg and the rest of the team stuttered into view and began securing the scene. As he moved past the body towards Molly Greg shouted something about another bad Samaritan at John, before kneeling down beside her and saying something Molly didn’t hear over her own rapidly breathless giggling.

Sherlock threw himself off the table and staggered towards them, John trailing in his wake. Greg was unceremoniously shoved to one side and Molly’s view was filled with curly haired, sharp cheek boned perfection. Sounding hysterical she gasped out;

“Your poor shirt. I love that shirt and it’s all dead now.”

“Molly. I need you to take a slow, deep breath for me.”

She tried managing a sort of gulping that was at least giggle free.

“Good and again; deep and slow.”

It was so easy to focus on that rich, creamy sounding voice. Molly wasn’t aware of Greg unlocking the handcuffs from around her wrists until her arms thumped down into her lap. Sherlock gently rubbed some feeling back into her wrists all the while getting her to calm down. Once her brain started getting regular oxygen again Molly felt the familiar twists of embarrassment. Since it was Sherlock in front of her this did not go unobserved.

“Doctor Molly Hooper.” He said firmly, “You will not let yourself become embarrassed. You are more than entitled to an emotional reaction, but not embarrassment. Today you have been fantastic, amazing and brilliant.”

Sherlock smiled at her, a real smile that reached his eyes and caused Molly to respond in kind. Greg carefully patted her shoulder and moved away to see what his team had found in the way of evidence. John moved into help Molly stand, but Sherlock wouldn’t let him help look after his pathologist. That didn’t stop John hovering around both of as they made their way unsteadily to the waiting ambulance.

“I’m afraid you’re going to be wrapped in a hideous orange blanket now Molly.”

Sherlock sounded overly grim at the prospect. It was so typically Sherlocky that Molly had to smile.


End file.
